


One fire burns out another's burning

by BakedAppleSauce



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Been there done that, Comfort Sex, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, mostly the comfort part, the most established of established relationships, they know what to do, they're experts at Dealing With Shit by now
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-01
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-03-18 15:42:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29120664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BakedAppleSauce/pseuds/BakedAppleSauce
Summary: “What do you actually remember?” Joe murmurs, right into his hair. He doesn’t sound upset so much as resigned, like he doesn’t want to stop what he’s doing to properly answer the question, which isn’t the worst sign.“I... “ Nicky says, trying to focus. He hasn’t bothered to untangle the mess inside his own head quite yet, all the jumbled bits and pieces that make up the memories of what happened last night. “A lot. I think. The important things. They went after you with… with that…”He can’t finish – doesn’t really see the need to finish, in all honesty, because there is no point. The novelty of being tortured has worn off centuries ago and they both know what he’s talking about anyway. Reaches out instead, to fit his palm over Joe’s thigh again, sliding his hand down a bit, cupping the inside.In which some shit went down and people are trying to deal.(This is a direct sequel to"The income of each precious thing".)
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 62
Kudos: 483





	One fire burns out another's burning

When Nicky wakes up, he somehow feels too warm and chilly at the same time, which is never a good sign. He lies there, disoriented, and allows himself the luxury of feeling like absolute  _ shit  _ for one long, indulgent moment.

At least he’s in a bed, he thinks, curled up on his side; still wearing some of his clothes, but no shoes. Feels like he might have been drooling on his pillow. He blinks his eyes open, which turns out to be a truly Herculean task, taking in the washed out, grey-white bedding with something close to actual mental effort. Realizes Joe is right next to him, thank God, right fucking  _ there, _ propped up against the headboard, head tipped to the side, watching Nicky stare at up him, bleary-eyed and not really awake yet.

Nicky fumbles for him on pure instinct, clumsily puts a hand on this thigh. Everything feels too bright and too loud and _ irritating, _ no matter how dim the room actually is. The flickering of the television is as grating as anything, despite the fact that it has to be muted because there is no sound, scraping across what feels like the insides of his head, making him feel nauseous.

He closes his eyes again and can hear Joe reach for what has to be the remote control, because the flickering stops with the click of a button. Nicky squeezes his thigh in gratitude. 

“Hello, my love,” Joe’s voice says quietly. “How are you feeling?”

He’s keeping his hands to himself, not even covering Nicky’s with his own, even though he most definitely wants to touch – they both know that Nicky doesn’t always draw the same comfort from a soothing touch that Joe does and never has. It’s just not the way he’s wired. Whenever he’s feeling  _ actually  _ unwell, he prefers to be left alone to suffer by himself, in peace and fucking quiet. 

Still, it’s a relief to know Joe’s  _ here, _ that he is alright and in one piece and watching television. Nicky might not want to be touched by him right this very second, but he always wants him close, just within reach. 

“...time is it,” he mutters. 

“Almost four in the afternoon,” Joe says.

“...next day?”

“Yes.”

He sits up gingerly. Joe doesn’t help him, for all that Nicky is aware that he’s watching, eagle-eyed, ready to assist at the first sign that Nicky might need it. His limbs feel heavy, weighed down by gravity. Got a bad headache, but it’s bearable, not the worst he’s ever had. Practically falls back against the headboard, once he’s managed to struggle upright, mirroring Joe’s pose. Lists to the right almost immediately, practically slumping against Joe, who sits up a bit straighter in turn, taking most of his weight. 

His head feels heavy too, feels like it weighs the same as a cannonball, and it still takes way too much effort to keep his eyes open. He remembers the long drive and arriving at the motel in bits and pieces, flashes more than anything. They crossed the border without incident, he’s pretty sure. Still have to be close to the interstate, because he can hear cars in the distance. 

“Here,” Joe says, holding out a clear plastic cup full of water. “You should…” 

Nicky makes a grateful noise and takes it from him. The water itself, the mere  _ idea  _ of drinking something, doesn’t seem particularly appealing, even though he knows he must be thirsty; but once he starts he can’t seem to stop anyway, downing the entire thing in one go.

Joe takes the cup from him after he’s done, carefully puts it between his thighs and leans sideways to reach for a plastic water bottle that must have been sitting on the floor. Fills the cup again. This time, Nicky doesn’t wait for him to hand it over, just takes it and downs it with the same speed as before, holding it out again when it’s empty.

“You want the entire bottle instead?” Joe asks. No, Nicky thinks, not sure why not. The ritual is soothing in its own way, the repetition of it, the fact that Joe is helping him out. He obliges without a word when Nicky shakes his head and simply refills the cup again. 

Nicky empties it again, albeit a lot slower this time around. Once he’s done, he feels a little better. Not quite like a whole person yet, but more human. Joe puts the water bottle on the nightstand. Nicky slumps down again, puts his heavy head on Joe’s shoulder. Can feel Joe turning towards him, nuzzling his hair before he presses a kiss to the top of Nicky’s head and retreats again.

They sit there for a while, exhausted silence descending.

“...long have I been asleep?” Nicky murmurs eventually. 

“Since we got here.”

“When d’we get here?”

“At about two in the morning.”

“Did we change cars?”

“Yes,” Joe says. His voice is pitched low, entirely for Nicky’s benefit, Nicky is willing to bet. “Right after we crossed the border. You don’t remember?”

“I…” Nicky says, too tired to honestly rack his brain to try and search for an answer. “Not really, I’m afraid.”

“You  _ insisted  _ on a black car,” Joe says and he sounds a little amused now – corner of his mouth twitching, Nicky doesn’t need to see his face to know. 

“I did?”

“Yes.” 

“Huh.”

“You were very adamant it was the most inconspicuous option.”

“...well,” Nicky says after a beat, faintly embarrassed. 

“Not necessarily wrong about that,” Joe says and he’s  _ definitely  _ smiling now.

Nicky leans into him more, can’t help himself. Buries his nose against the warm skin, the side of Joe’s neck. He smells like himself, clean and familiar and _ safe.  _ Like home. 

“How are you?” he murmurs. “Are you alright?”

“I might be wrong...” Joe says slowly, still sounding amused. “But I  _ believe  _ I asked you first, no?”

“I’m fine,” Nicky says, dismissive. He might have a splitting headache and feel queasy and exhausted, but he’s going to be fine. The physical discomfort is nothing he can’t handle. Joe on the other hand… 

“Well, in that case," he says, predictably. “I’m fine as well.”

_ “Yusuf-”  _ Nicky says, trying to be stern.

“Nicolo,” Joe says, unimpressed. 

“I’ve felt better,” Nicky admits reluctantly. “In case that wasn’t obvious. But I promise you, I’m fine.”

Joe shifts beside him, starts nuzzling his hair again. Nicky could fall asleep again right then and there, he thinks, plastered to Joe’s side, just as they are.

“What about you,” he doggedly continues. “How are you…?”

“What do you actually remember?” Joe murmurs, right into his hair. He doesn’t sound upset so much as resigned, like he doesn’t want to stop what he’s doing to properly answer the question, which isn’t the worst sign. 

“I... “ Nicky says, trying to focus. He hasn’t bothered to untangle the mess inside his own head quite yet, all the jumbled bits and pieces that make up the memories of what happened last night. “A lot. I think. The important things. They went after you with… with that…”

He can’t finish – doesn’t really see the need to finish, in all honesty, because there is no point. The novelty of being tortured has worn off centuries ago and they both know what he’s talking about anyway. Reaches out instead, to fit his palm over Joe’s thigh again, sliding his hand down a bit, cupping the inside. 

“They did,” Joe says. He seems fine, the way he says it, but that doesn’t have to mean anything. These kinds of things, it can be tricky sometimes, they both know that from first hand experience. 

“And…” Nicky continues, to make it easier on him and also to finish his train of thought before it can disappear on him again. “I remember… putting my arm on the roof of a car…? I shot somebody. Mostly I just…  _ oh,” _ he says, suddenly alarmed, remembering the reason for all of it. “Fuck. Did I tell them anything?”

“No,” Joe says, and for some reason he sounds fond. 

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely positive, yes.”

“That’s good.”

“You told them how much you loved me,” Joe mumurms, speaking directly into his hair. “Over and over again.”

“I did?”

“Yes.”

“Oh,” Nicky says, feeling unreasonably mollified by this information. He’s not quite sure whether he can recall any of the specifics, but it doesn’t matter. It’s the truth anyway. “Well.  _ Good.  _ You sure you’re alright?”

Joe sighs and straightens up a bit. “I mean,” he says, clearly hesitant. “I’m…" Nicky makes an encouraging noise. "It’s just… I’m somewhat certain I’ll be dreaming of that fucking…  _ sound _ for the forseeable future.”

“Yeah…” Nicky mumbles after a moment of silence, because all of a sudden, it’s back for him as well – the shrill, piercing whir of the drill ringing in his ears, mechanical and unforgiving. Presses closer to Joe and gently grips his thigh, stroking it with his thumb. 

“But,” Joe says, a grand declaration, holding up one hand like he’s taking an oath. “I shall be fine.”

“Yes?”

“Yes.”

This is the truth as well, Nicky thinks. Ultimately they’ll both get over this, move on with their lives. It’s all there is, really. It’s all they can do. Still – that doesn’t mean there won’t be nightmares, memories, residual pain.  _ Trauma  _ would be the accurate term, he supposes, by modern standards. 

“Sorry you had to drive the whole way,” he murmurs, just to say something. His consciousness is already trying to betray him again, trying to pull him back under. 

“Welllllll,” Joe says with a smile in his voice, drawing out the last syllable. “If you had insisted, I’m pretty sure we’d have ended up in a ditch somewhere.”

“Hmm,” Nicky manages, which is the last thing he remembers before he drifts back off to sleep again.

* * *

The next time he wakes up, he immediately knows he hasn’t been asleep for that long. Back in bed again, back under the covers. Joe must’ve put him there, he thinks, slowly pushing himself up onto his elbows. 

Joe is sitting cross-legged at the foot of the bed, with what looks like an antiquated phone book in his lap, using it as a makeshift table for the piece of paper he’s currently drawing on with a pencil. He looks… exhausted. Pale, with dark circles under his eyes, shoulders slumped. When their eyes meet, he smiles. Slips one hand underneath the blanket to reach for Nicky’s ankle, wraps careful fingers around it. He’s the most beautiful person Nicky has ever seen.

He smiles back, still unbelievably tired, but feeling much clearer. 

Rasps “...what’re you drawing?” and realizes he’s already parched again.

Joe holds up the phone book, turns it around to show off his masterpiece – a meticulous pencil drawing of two vending machines sitting side by side – to be found somewhere outside their room, presumably. Then he shrugs, looking a bit sheepish.

“Admittedly, this would look a lot more interesting if I had some colors at my disposal. ”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Nicky says innocently. “I’m quite enjoying the view.”

Joe’s smile grows even wider. 

“How very superficial of you,” he says, then solemnly adds, “I approve. Feeling better?”

“Tired," Nicky says, which isn’t exactly news at this point. “But overall, yes.”

“There’s some food, if you like,” Joe says, which means he must have gone out at some point while Nicky was asleep. “It’s not great, I’m warning you right now. The only option was the gas station,” which means he didn’t dare to go too far. 

“S’fine,” Nicky says. He doesn’t feel hungry at all, even though he knows he should eat something,  _ knows  _ he’ll feel better afterwards. Struggles out of bed instead, very aware of Joe’s eyes on him the entire time. 

He feels almost ridiculously weak, legs rubbery, and it takes him a few seconds until he feels confident enough to get up, but he discovers that standing still works out alright, as does walking. 

“I’m fine,” he tells Joe, absentmindedly over his shoulder, and Joe says, very dryly, “If you say so,” and lets him shuffle into the small bathroom all by himself without protest. 

The entire room seems to be made of one piece, floor, walls, ceiling, everything made of some beige plastic material that must make it very easy to clean and disinfect. When Nicky closes the door, he has an unexpected moment of dizziness that makes him reach for and hold onto the sink for a long moment, vision going dark around the edges. 

Fuck, he thinks, faintly amused at himself, breathing in and out carefully through his nose, if he passes out now, he’s never going to hear the end of this. 

Once it fades, he takes a moment to stare at himself in the mirror. 

He looks like death warmed over, which doesn’t exactly come as a surprise. Took his system an unusually long time to break down whatever the fuck they decided to dose him with, he thinks. Very strange. It’s definitely gone now, whatever it was, he’s just stuck suffering the aftereffects. 

He uses the bathroom. Drinks some more water from the tap afterwards, even though it doesn’t taste all that great, before he steps into the shower. There is some residual moisture, some water droplets that haven’t quite dried yet, presumably because Joe used it not too long ago. Manages to have another bout of dizziness as he’s standing under the spray a little while later, water surprisingly hot, and has to put both palms flat against the plastic wall to steady himself. This might be the lack of food, he realizes suddenly, immediately annoyed at himself, nothing sinister going on here. 

After he’s stepped out of the shower, he finds that there is only one large towel and it’s already damp, which is fine, it’s not like he has to make himself actually presentable. Not like he’s going anywhere. Scrubs it over his head in a half-hearted attempt to at least try and dry his hair. Then he brushes his teeth. Drinks some more water from the tap. When he finally pads back into their room again in his water-stained boxers and t-shirt, the curtains are still drawn, but the murky evening light that filtered through before has been replaced by neon light coming in from the outside. 

In the meantime, Joe has decided to turn on the cheap bedside lamp. Still sits there with his head bent, busy adding a potted plant to his drawing, situated right between the two vending machines. It might be an accurate representation of reality, it might not be. Nicky sinks down on the edge of the mattress, spots the half-empty water bottle right next to the bedside lamp, and can practically feel his mouth go dry again. He empties the entire bottle in one go, well aware that Joe is watching him again.

“Sorry,” he says then, strangely out of breath just from drinking water for some reason. “Did you want-”

“Not to worry,” Joe says. “There’s more.”

“How thoughtful,” Nicky says. It comes out sounding more sarcastic than he meant it to. 

Joe winks at him, looking very pleased with himself regardless, and all of a sudden, Nicky is mesmerized – by his elegant hands and the way he’s loosely holding his pencil like an afterthought. By his broad chest and the way his t-shirt is ripped at the collar, most likely a souvenir from yesterday. By the way he’s ducking his head down to hide his smile after a few seconds of eye contact, looking a bit sheepish again.

Slowly pulls his legs up onto the mattress and starts clambering towards him. Joe uncrosses his own legs and lets them fall open, making space for Nicky to crawl in between them. Watches him as he bends down to kiss the top of Joe’s bare knee, once, twice, a few times more before he decides to move a bit higher, kisses the inside of Joe’s thigh.

“Nicky,” Joe says then, a half-hearted protest. 

“Yes?”

“You don’t have to-”

“I want to,” Nicky murmurs, which isn’t entirely true, because not only does he want to, he feels like he absolutely  _ has  _ to, like he would expire on the spot if he couldn’t. “Lie down.” 

They both shift on the bed until Joe is lying down flat on his back. Nicky moves with him, can’t bring himself to stop mouthing at his thigh even for a second. Can’t help the satisfied little hum when Joe pushes a hand into his hair either, stroking gently, like he’s worried Nicky might fall apart at any second, which… nothing could be further from the truth and they both know it.

He keeps making soft noises, too, clearly trying to keep it down – could make him be loud, Nicky thinks incoherently, considering it for a moment, it’s  _ easy. _ He can’t seem to tear his mouth away from the inside of his thigh, getting bolder with his attentions, sucking kisses into the soft skin, working his way upwards. Joe’s got beautiful thighs, he thinks, strangely petulant, and beautiful knees, they should never be marred, they’re  _ perfect. _

When he reaches the crease of Joe’s thigh and licks at it, follows it along with the tip of his tongue, Joe inhales sharply, then exhales, drawing it out like he has to get himself under control. He definitely took a shower at some point, Nicky thinks, because he smells clean, but at the same time there’s no artifice to it – he smells like a man, like  _ himself, _ and Nicky wants to bury himself between his legs and never move again. Joe’s dick has started to tent his boxer briefs, already half-hard, and there is the underlying smell of his arousal as well, achingly familiar. Nicky scrapes his teeth over the vulnerable skin, then starts to suck a mark, then another one. Can feel the give underneath his mouth, can feel Joe spread his legs even more, letting them fall open. It’s  _ thrilling.  _

Eventually, Nicky has to sit up again, has to rid him of his underwear, Joe helping him right along, looking dazed but lifting his hips obediently when Nicky pulls his briefs down, and then Nicky ducks back down, comfortably settles in for the long haul. 

God, but he  _ loves  _ doing this. Sucks Joe down slowly, savoring the sensation – above him, Joe inhales again, air hissing through his teeth, leg muscles tensing beneath Nicky’s hands at the first contact. His dick is filling out, a heavy weight on Nicky’s tongue, growing hard and insistent. Nicky tongues the head, presses the flat of his tongue against it and hollows his cheeks.

_ “Ah” _ Joe moans, obviously still trying to keep it down. “Oh, thats-”

Nicky hums again in agreement, which earns him another noise, and then stops messing around and starts bobbing his head instead, starts to suck him off in earnest. He keeps getting dizzy in between, feeling absolutely boneless in no time at all, weak with arousal, like the shivery feeling is taking up what little energy he had left, which only makes it hotter somehow, makes him want it more. 

Joe tries to be mindful about everything for a lot longer than necessary, letting him do whatever he wants. Keeps petting Nicky’s head, his shoulders, clearly growing more desperate by the second, but at the same time he doesn’t move too much, trying to keep still. 

_ “God,” _ he keeps muttering, and “fuck,  _ fuck, _ that’s-” and  _ “Nico-” _

Finally, Nicky can’t help himself any longer – has to pull off to see his face, has to see what he has done. Joe makes a small, whimpering noise of protest but doesn’t say anything, blinking up at him with dark eyes when Nicky sits back on his haunches, lips cherry red from where he must keep biting them to keep the noise down. Nicky stares at him, heart pounding, and takes it all in. 

Takes his dick in hand after a moment, everything slick with his own spit, and watches Joe’s eyes flutter shut, watches him roll his hips, trying to push into Nicky’s grip. Watches Joe’s dick slide in and out of his own fist, watches his abs and thigh muscles tighten with effort, watches the slack expression on his face, watches him blink his eyes open again, helplessly staring at what Nicky is doing – and all of a sudden a new wave of arousal washes over him, entirely unexpected. 

“Fuck,” he breathes and falls forward, leans over him and crashes their mouths together. His thoughts are a jumbled, possessive mess – of pinning Joe down and never letting him get up again, of claiming him, of keeping him here, like this, forever, of never letting him get hurt ever again, of making him feel so good they both might cry, thinks  _ mine, mine, he’s mine- _

Joe’s mouth opens for him immediately, easy as anything, pliable and soft, and Nicky pushes his tongue inside, staking his claim, making both of them tremble. One of Joe’s hands is cupping the back of his neck to keep him close, the other one clutching at the small of his back. 

“How are you feeling now?” Nicky pants.

Joe’s eyes have gone very dark, heavy-lidded with pleasure. 

“Better,” he says without hesitation, grinning up at him, voice dripping with amusement. “So much better, thank you for the assistance-” which is as far as he gets, because Nicky kisses him again, working his tongue into his mouth, mindlessly greedy. They kiss deeply for a long time, rocking against each other. Nicky can feel his limbs start to tremble, growing weaker by the second and he’s breathing hard between kisses, feeling absolutely breathless.

Joe notices, because  _ of course _ he fucking does, Nicky can practically feel him become more alert, registering what is going on. 

“You alright?” he murmurs, gentling his suspicious tone with another kiss, nosing at Nicky’s cheek. 

“Yes,” Nicky pants, which isn’t even a lie – he’s fine, he’s feeling great, he  _ wants this _ more than anything. “Yes, I’m, I’m fine, I’m just- I want this, don’t you dare stop.”

Can hear Joe huff a laugh, disbelieving, but he decides to take Nicky’s word for it, thank God. Still, he rolls them carefully, Nicky practically shaking when he lands on his back, awash with anticipation. They slot together automatically – Joe’s works one leg between Nicky’s thighs, pushing down, giving him something to grind against; Nicky grabs his ass with both hands, digs his fingers in, pulling him as close as he’ll go, both of them rutting against each other. 

It takes no time at all to fall into a familiar rhythm, moving against each other in a way that… just…  _ works- _ oh, Nicky thinks, delighted, head swimming, oh  _ fuck, _ this is good. He loves this. It’s a mystery how it still can come as a surprise, even after all this time, after a  _ millenium.  _ Why do they ever bother with anything else?

Joe must be close by now, Nicky’d recognize his movements anywhere, the way he gets a little frantic, tension shivering through him, single-minded in a way he usually just…  _ isn’t. _ Nicky bites at his shoulder, grabs the back of his thigh, starts sucking another mark into the side of his neck. Revels in the groan he gets in response. 

They get off like that eventually, Joe propped up on one elbow, gathering both of their dicks in his fist; Nicky clinging to him for dear life, face buried against his shoulder as they’re rocking together, muffling his moans.

They stay as they are for a long while afterwards, Joe a heavy weight on top of him, utterly reassuring. Nicky keeps stroking his back, shoving a hand underneath Joe’s t-shirt to get at skin. Almost protests when Joe finally rolls off him, stretches out next to him on the bed and curls close immediately, draping himself over Joe’s chest, even though it takes considerable effort. 

“You should probably eat something,” Joe murmurs, observant as always. Then he makes a faint, choking kind of noise when Nicky very seriously licks at his sticky fingers, sucks one of them into his mouth. 

_ “Nicolo!” _ he says, sounding scandalized, which makes Nicky snicker. 

“I will, yes,” he says, placating. The idea seems even less appealing somehow, but he’s well aware that this is just his mind convincing itself of something that isn’t true. “I will.”

Then he tightens an arm around Joe’s chest as if on autopilot, to keep him from getting up, presumably to go fetch the food. 

“In a minute.”

“Nico-”

“One minute,” Nicky says, everything in his heart reluctant to let go of him, let him leave again, even if it’s just for a few seconds. “Please. We’ve made it this far, I will survive another minute.”

Joe sighs deeply, defeated. 

“Fine,” he says, sinking back down, squinting at him when Nicky kisses his cheek. “One minute.”

“Thank you.”

A few moments of tired silence pass them by, relaxed and utterly satisfied. Then Nicky can’t help but ask, “Are you… are you watching the clock?” 

“Maybe I am,” Joe says airily, which means  _ yes. _ “What of it? I like to keep track of time.”

“Do not lie to me,” Nicky says, helplessly amused and ridiculously overcome by how much he loves him. Buries down again, clinging to him, so his next words come out muffled. “You hate keeping track of time.”

“That is  _ not  _ true,” Joe says. “It is a very useful thing to-” which is as far as he gets, because Nicky has to kiss him again, can’t even help himself. It won’t distract him for long, he’s well aware of this. Doesn’t matter. 

Half a minute is all he needs. 

**Author's Note:**

> We're sticking with Shakespeare for the title, I guess.


End file.
